Girl's Night Out
by Dante Corwyn
Summary: Shaw is not fond of her cover identity. A visit from Root offers some opportunities for fun. This is set just after the episode Prophets, and obviously contains spoilers for the show, but I have not seen past season 3 (I've read synopsis and seen clips). I may expand this out later, but it's enough to stand on it's own merits I feel. Reviews and critique welcome.


For at least the tenth time that day, Shaw wishes that the perfume she is spraying in a strangers face was actually a gun.

No matter her cover, she has never had to fake a smile for this long. She can feel the pain in her cheeks already. Ten more minutes, and then a break, a chance to relax, even flick through that well-thumbed Path to Zen book Fusco gave her the month before. To not turn round, screw Samaritan and walk into a drug den with a selection of choice handgun weaponry, just for the sake of having something constructive to do.

Two weeks have passed with nothing to get rid of the tension. Finch is either busy doing what professors do whenever they're not teaching or fighting for tenure. Reese is having fun playing detective, and poor Fusco having to teach him how to do the job without resorting to shooting out someone's kneecaps. Even Bear is busy, as busy as a dog can be, acting as Harold's guard dog.

Five minutes, and a brief respite. And then, tedium for another four hours, and another night of noodles and bad wine.

There's a set of light steps behind her. Shaw sighs and fakes yet another smile. She spins around. And the smile goes.

'Hello lover'.

Root, no matter her cover, always opens with a smile. FBI agent, psychologist, linguist to the UN, even cold-blooded killer, she always flashes those pearly whites. It's distracting for most opponents. Shaw's had plenty of practice in resisting it. It's still only fairly recent that she's resisted the urge to punch them out.

'I'm on a break." Shaw slams the perfume bottle down on the counter, and feels the slight vibrate of her phone. And it stops. And starts again. She grabs it from her pocket. Numbers she doesn't recognise, numbers that aren't part of the typical cell network, the timings at different rates, pulses and long stretches of rings, stopping and starting again.

Morse Code?

"She's trying something out" Root starts, back to the camera in the corner. "The numbers probably don't mean anything."

Is there a pattern there? Root's the black-hat hacker, possibly Finch's equal there, but neither of them really dealt with military codes. Reese might recognise it.

"It looks familiar. Beats Sudoko any day."

And there's a tilt to her shoulder. Playful killer. "Puzzle for you. Maybe she knows you're getting bored. Are you free after 5?"

"Why? There a new number?"

Root steps back a little, sit's on the chair. The old routine, and Shaw follows, getting out a small brush. Root, whoever she is that day, wanting to look good for whatever she's doing, Shaw again wondering why the Machine gave her this role to play. "Not exactly. She's experimenting. I actually got more information than Harold or you used to get this time."

"Not a social security number?"

"A time. An address. A photo."

"That's different. Victim or perp?"

Root points at her eyebrows next. Shaw scowls and gets some liner. "Well, that's when it's a little interesting. You remember that Decima agent who shot at me when we tried to get Simon Lee out?"

Shaw isn't sure she likes where this is going. There's a very drawn out "Yeah?"

And there's that smile again. "The Machine says she'll be at this address tonight, at 9."

"And what, the Machine want's us to kill her?"

"Wouldn't be the first time the Machine thought the best way to solve a problem was to kill someone. It could be a warning to stay away from there, but I saw the CCTV footage when she was shooting at me. I've seen the exact same pattern, the same way I've seen one other person shoots. Like God was guiding them.

Shaw drops the eye-liner. "You watch your old shoot-outs?"

"I like to discuss the game post-play. Even if it's only with myself."

"And what, Samaritan has it's little foot-soldiers with cochlear implants?"

"No, not yet. But I don't plan on giving it ideas."

"So, what, you want to track this bitch down? Why take me?"

And, there's sincerity there. "Because, Sam, we work well together. And Harold would never condone it. And Bear can't use a gun."

"He's been practicing. Fusco I can understand, he doesn't have the secret identity thing going on. Why not John?"

"Him and Lionel took down a major street gang yesterday, they only just finished the paperwork. Lionel's taking him to a cop bar to celebrate. He said something, about, badge bunnies?"

"Don't go there." And it's there. She hides it well, but the thrill of taking down bad people is there, bubbling beneath the surface. Her cover, her gift from the Machine, the one that lets her survive, it doesn't let her live. And Root, as much as Shaw still doesn't really trust her, is letting her live. At least for one more night. She throws in a little resignation, fake, but hopefully enough to fool Root a little. "So what's the plan?"

Root stands and pulls out her wallet, slips Shaw some money for the makeover, and Shaw feels the stiffness of a business card in the bills. "It's all there, and the tip, you deserve it. Pick something, practical." One final smile, and she's gone.

She's missed her lunch break, but no matter. Even if Root doesn't turn up again, at least the tip's enough for a decent Chinese take-out. And then Shaw reads the business card. And for once, she has her own real smile.


End file.
